


Cold Heart, Broken Heart (we turn at last to paths that lead home)

by IcyCrystal



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AND IF IT DOES BECOME MULTI CHAPTER, Angst, BotFA, HINT:SOMEONE COMES BACK TO LIFE, Home, Hurt, I HAVE A TWIST NONE OF YOU WILL EXPECT, Love, M/M, Multi, NOW YOU EXPECT IT, SO EXPECT IT IF IT BECOMES MULTI CHAPTERED, Sad, TELL ME IN COMMENTS, Tragedy, if you want it to be, just read it, might become multi chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:17:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyCrystal/pseuds/IcyCrystal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They were like parallel lines, always near, but never together."</p><p>Bilbo's always longed for his home, he misses feeling the warmth of the fireplace on his skin, the taste of his tea upon his tongue. But the farther and farther he traveled with his comrades, he realizes that home was not his cosy little smial.</p><p>It was Thorin.</p><p>But tragedies always end in tragedies. Love is a tragedy, no matter how beautiful it may be.</p><p>(Might become multi-chaptered)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Heart, Broken Heart (we turn at last to paths that lead home)

**Cold Heart, Broken Heart**

"We're not broken just bent and we can learn to love again."

* * *

  


All that was seen by the great mountain was the faint outline of his back in the distance. Bilbo Baggins was leaving. With a pack hoisted upon his shoulders that drooped low, a chest full of treasures clutched within his arms and a goodbye upon his tongue, he began his journey back to the place he once called home.

When he first began the journey, all he thought about was his cosy little smial, how he longed to be by that fire once more, a book and a teacup in hand.

He remembered the Goblin Tunnels, the day he had almost walked away, ignoring Bofur’s pleas because they were all lies, _lieslieslies_.

He remembered the Carrock, rage and hurt churning is stomach, because how dare he, _how dare he_ say all those things when Bilbo had only saved his life. But it hurt him, it really did, harder than he would have expected, but why?

But then came the embrace. And his lips, oh, how close they were to his own, but he could not, for Thorin was a king and he was merely a hobbit. And he still longed for home, not for comfort, not anymore, but for distraction. To distract himself from the affection growing within him for Thorin, because he knew, it would never work (he was right).

But the farther and farther he went he realized that home was not his smial, nor was it any other place, it was him.

But then, just as love is a tragedy, and tragedies always end in tragedies, his love was gone before him. 

It was too much, the memories, the pain. It left scars on him, scars unable to fade, scars that ran deeper than physical ones. The nightmares that haunted his sleep night by night, the horror of it all.

And after the tear felt apology on the battlefield, holding the fragile body, the shadow of the dwarf he would proudly call King, he couldn't take it anymore. The way those blue eyes stared at him, so earnestly, so sorry. Surrounded by nothing but blood and screams of anguish and anger, they lay huddled upon the tall hill where the Durin Line's fate had been sealed. And as those blue eyes closed, his heart shattered as it fell. Apologizing wasn't gonna cut it. Not after-

_Stop, stop, stopstopstop, I can't breathe_

_Descendant of rats, traitortraitortraitor_

_I'm so sorry, to leaveleaveleaveleave this way_

And the farewell was like the final blow, the deciding blow, the blow that tore his heart into shreds.

And he had enough.

He had not stayed for the burial. He could not see it, his love put into stone forevermore, cold and still, so different from what had once been a warm and beating heart.

He was too much of a coward, too angry, too hurt. 

So after the goodbyes, he left. Eyes empty of the fire they once held, head bowed down low and shoulders rigid, he took his first steps away from the mountain.

And he felt so empty. So, so empty. He was bent, to the point of breaking, and every step he took away from the shadow of the mountain felt as if being bent further and further and further. They were like parallel lines, always near, but never together.

He felt nothing anymore. He felt like ice, so fragile, breakable, but still and cold. He felt heartless, for what use is a heart that's ice, a heart that cannot feel?

How could he learn to love again?

Maybe he couldn’t.

* * *

  


"And who do you think you are  


Running 'round leaving scars

Collecting your jar of hearts

And tearing love apart

You're gonna catch a cold

From the ice inside your soul

So don't come back for me

Who do you think you are?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, sooooo, I hope this was an alright little ficlet.


End file.
